


A Thousand Burning Suns

by sub_textual



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Cock & Ball Torture, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Incest, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Post DMC manga, Pre DMC3, Rimming, Twincest, Unnegotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-12-25 14:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18263672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_textual/pseuds/sub_textual
Summary: They were never meant to be separated like the stars in the night sky.Gravity pulls them together, and they collide into one another with the force of a thousand burning suns.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Auntarctica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auntarctica/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Edited by[Auntarctica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auntarctica/)**   
> 
> 
> Take me down to your paradise  
> I lose my words every time I try  
> To make sense on why I lose my mind  
> [You're every wrong that I need at night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=InAaCKqUmjE)  
> \- The Score

Sometimes, Dante thinks that it was easier before.

Before, when he was still alone, adrift, floating through the world between one battle and the next, chasing after the next kill, the next thrill. Anything to fill in the hollowed out space inside of him that once held love — bright, bursting, effortless. The kind only a child could have. 

He told himself he didn’t need it, the memory of it: the feeling of his mother’s hand in his hair, his brother’s quiet, steady presence. What it was like when life was easy and free, and his greatest concern, his singular focus, was the best way to annoy the other half of him. 

But then came the night when Dante lost it all — his mother, his brother, his whole world.

What it felt like to be whole. 

It ripped out the part of him that was sacred, the part of him that was light. The human part of him that was soft and vulnerable, that screamed awake in the middle of the night with the memory of blood in his mouth and burning in his eyes, and the stench of hell that broke through the sky and eviscerated the softest parts of everything he loved until there was nothing left but bone and blood, sinew and flesh, and the soundless scream swallowed behind too-small, too-weak fingers that shook over his mouth. 

He carried it with him in the amulet around his neck, and in his own blurry reflection in the mirror at night, which was the only part of his family that he had left.

Carried it with him, in the burning rage inside his chest, a violence so large it sometimes felt as though it would rip him apart if he didn’t let it out — if he didn’t kill the thing inside of him that threatened to consume him whole. 

It was easier to do his best to forget, chase away the feeling of loss with the rush of the hunt, the kill, the brutal satisfaction of cold metal tearing through demon flesh. The adrenaline that streaked through him like lightning in his blood and fire in his belly woke something deep and primal inside of him. Something dark and armed with teeth. Something dangerous and _alive,_ which made him feel invincible, reckless to the point of abandon. 

There was nothing left for him to lose, after all. 

Not even himself, who he didn’t really care much for, anyway. 

For years, he spent his life trying to kill and hunt and fuck his way into oblivion. For some time, he succeeded.

Until the day Vergil walked back into his life again — solid and real and _alive_. 

Dante could hardly believe his eyes from where he had been thrown, stale blood slowly soaking through the thick fabric of his coat. 

There he was, cutting a regal silhouette in the dim light of the catacombs, skin as smooth as alabaster, the familiar set of his shoulders and the sweep of his silver hair a shock to Dante’s system as he registered the impossibility of what stood before him: the missing part of him that he never thought he’d ever have a chance to hold once more. 

The missing part that stood aligned with the very demons that had taken away everything precious and sacred from them both, nearly a lifetime ago.

The betrayal was almost enough to break him.

Rage came easier.

But what came after was the worst of all: the sight of his brother’s back as he walked away, the amulet he’d cut from Dante’s neck a parting gift burning in Dante’s hand. 

And then, the truth: _“I can retrieve it any time.”_

All those years of quiet mourning, of loss. Of trying to fill the emptiness inside him that once held all the love he had for a brother, who was once his world. A brother, whose memory he couldn’t even hold anymore, with the knowledge that Vergil had been alive all along, could have come to Dante at _any time_ in all the years they’d been apart. 

But he never did. 

*

It turns out, Vergil did choose to come to Dante after. 

But not in the way Dante had anticipated. 

He had been waiting for a fight, had expected as much, and Vergil certainly didn’t disappoint. He gave as much as Dante doled out, left the cold stone beneath their feet as broken and bruised as their bodies, stained with blood. Left something else too — a deep, dark rage, more powerful than anything Dante had ever known, screaming alive inside of him, emerging from a well of hurt so deep you’d drown if you tried to see the bottom. A longing that was as strong as the paradoxically maddening need to kill and to hold, to keep on fighting even when his arms shook with fatigue, if only because that meant Vergil’s eyes would continue to meet his own in battle, instead of turning away from him as he walked away. 

Holding Vergil with the edge of his blade was better than not holding him at all.

Tasting his sweat, his blood, breathing in his scent, which was so like his own, but so much _more,_ meant Vergil still cared. Enough to fight him, or try to kill him, anyway. 

And some part of Dante wanted to say that was enough.

But there was something there, in the glint of Vergil’s eyes. In the way he looked at Dante across the crossed edge of their swords. 

It wasn’t a look that felt like killing, but like something else.

Something more dangerous.

Something incomprehensible.

It made the blood nearly boil in Dante’s veins, when he realized that Vergil wasn’t actually really here to kill him at all. He wasn’t even taking this shit seriously, was actually _enjoying_ the fight, if that nearly imperceptible tilt at the corner of his mouth had anything to say about it. There was a relaxed ease with which he swung his sword, a kind of effortlessness with which he parried each blow, the last one sending Dante skidding back across the floor with the fingertips of one hand braced along the ground. 

He breathed heavily, Rebellion clutched in his other hand, and studied his brother from across the way. 

Vergil regarded him coolly, sliding Yamato back into the scabbard at his side, thumb brushing against the katana’s gilded hilt. 

“Y’know, I coulda been fooled, brother,” Dante drawled, as he straightened up, drawing the lines of his body into something deceptively unreadable. “I thought you came here to kill me, but it seems like you just wanted a nice dance. Why the pretense?” 

Vergil said nothing at first, merely canting his head slightly as his eyes met Dante’s squarely. “Maybe I just missed my little brother and wanted to see him.”

“Coulda seen me any time in the past _ten_ years. Sure did take your sweet fuckin’ time.”

There was a pause, and Dante watched as Vergil’s left eyebrow twitched up ever so slightly, the curve of his mouth turning into something that almost resembled a pleased smirk. “Are you trying to say that you missed me?”

Dante wasn’t sure how he had expected Vergil to respond, but it certainly wasn’t that. He had expected irreverence, apathy, a dismissal. Had thought Vergil would’ve admitted to him that he simply wasn’t important enough to waste his time on, that he didn’t matter enough to find. He certainly didn’t expect his brother to turn the tables on him, but then he should’ve — Vergil always was as good with words as he was with his sword. 

Even as children, Vergil had always found a way to counter every possible insult and jab that came sailing out of Dante’s mouth. Dante once found it incredibly infuriating — until he no longer had Vergil there at all. Vergil, who was as brilliant as he was aloof, as sharp as he was cunning, smooth and collected and everything that Dante wasn’t. He was the night to Dante’s day, the moon to his sun, perfect in every way that Dante was flawed. He had everything Dante didn’t, but that was just fine, because Dante had Vergil, and Vergil was all that he needed. 

Without him, he had lost the meaning of what it meant to be whole. 

There was a time when he would’ve done anything, if it meant he could have had Vergil back, even if it was just Vergil’s voice shaped around a clever comeback that cut Dante to the deep, where he had left himself unarmored. 

He would’ve suffered anything, borne any pain, if it meant he could have been given back the part of him that was his brother — the only part of him that really mattered at all.

But Dante couldn’t very well say that at all. Couldn’t open his mouth to tell his brother this: yes, I’ve missed you, more than you could ever know. I don’t think I was even really alive without you. I just didn’t see the point. 

He couldn’t admit aloud what he’d known all along — that there was no meaning to his life, no purpose other than the endless killing, when he was only half-formed.

Instead, he cocked his head and squared his shoulders with a jaunty, shit-eating grin and said, “Maybe I just missed kicking your ass.” 

Vergil’s eyes glinted with knowledge, secret and dark, of what was left unsaid, in between the clashing of their swords.

*

In the end, Dante found himself on the unforgiving floor, his guns just out of reach, scattered across the ground. Rebellion was embedded deep in the ceiling, where it had ended up after a particularly brutal parry as his brother drove back his advance, then swept his legs out from right under him. 

He coughed up a mouthful of blood as Vergil’s foot came squarely to rest on his chest to keep him down, the tip of Yamato grazing the thin, sensitive skin under his chin. 

He felt broken, raw, worn down, and glared up at Vergil with spite burning in his eyes. But his anger had nothing at all to do with Vergil, and everything to do with himself — for not being strong enough, or fast enough, or good enough to best his brother. For allowing himself to fall into this position a second fucking time. 

“Go on,” he spat out bitterly, honest in a way he normally wasn’t, as Vergil looked down on him impassively. “Take what you fucking came for.” 

He fully expected that Vergil would reach down and rip off the amulet around his neck, then turn to walk away. He expected that there was nothing else Vergil could have wanted from him, nothing that he needed, other than the one thing that would help Vergil undo all that their father had done to protect this world from demons. 

But instead, Vergil’s brow furrowed slightly, as he tilted his head. “What do you think I came here for?”

Dante stared up at him with equal parts disbelief and fury as he clenched his jaw and let out a heavy breath, and watched as Vergil’s eyes tracked the path of his fingers to the amulet around his neck, understanding washing over his face a moment later. 

“Oh, _that,_ ” Vergil said, almost flippantly. “I didn’t come here for that.”

“Then what the hell did you come here for?”

There was a shift, nearly imperceptible.

You’d have to go looking for it, if you didn’t know what you were looking for. 

But Dante recognized it for what it was: the moment the battle left Vergil’s eyes. And he watched, bewildered, as Vergil let out a long-suffering sigh, and shook his head, a wry ghost of a smile finding its way across his mouth. 

“Don’t you see, brother?” he asked quietly, as the tip of Yamato slowly, sensually slid down the curve of Dante’s neck, to prick the soft skin at the hollow of his throat. “I came here for you.”

*

Dante never could have imagined that this was how the fight would end: with his arms wrapped around his brother, his legs around his narrow waist, as Vergil pounded into his body, filling up all the aching, hollowed out parts of him that had been ripped from him all those years ago. It was all-consuming, the way Vergil fucked him, splitting him open with his cock — a deep, rolling rutting into the core of him that had him spitting out obscenities in between bitten back moans that Vergil tore from him as violently as he laid claim to his body.

This is mine, he seemed to say, as his tongue scorched a hot trail down Dante’s throat, and his teeth viciously ground down into the flesh at the base of Dante’s neck, as though he wanted to leave a shadow of himself in Dante’s skin forever. His hands clutched Dante’s buttocks, spreading him open as he held him up against the wall, cock driving deep and fast as the ribald scent of blood and sweat and sex and something far darker and more primal filled the air between them. 

Dante knew, in that moment, as Vergil’s forehead came to rest against his own, as he watched the way his brother’s lashes rested upon his cheeks, lips parted, brow twisted with pleasure that Dante greedily called his own, that this was what he had always needed, all along. 

Nothing else could ever compare to the feeling of being made whole.

*

It went on for hours.

Or maybe it was days.

(Time doesn’t have much meaning when you’re only half human.)

It was brutal, unforgiving. Desperate, almost. 

Dante felt a hunger, a need so overwhelming it was as though he had known nothing else before. 

What they were doing, it couldn’t really be called _fucking_ , no. It was more of a devouring, a consuming of the other, relentless in how it expressed itself. 

“Again,” he demanded against Vergil’s sumptuous mouth. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Vergil chuckled, low and sinuous, as his tongue stroked over the curve of his brother’s mouth, his hand irreverently gliding down the swollen length of Dante’s cock. “I believe it’s your turn this time, little brother,” he told Dante, as he splayed fingers against Dante’s chest to push him back down onto the ground and straddled him. 

The sound Dante made as he found himself sliding inside his brother, filling him the way Vergil had filled him so many times before, was nothing human.

 

*

Nothing could last forever.

Dante had always known it was a matter of time before Vergil left again. He just hadn’t expected it to hurt as much as it did. 

*

It was easier before. 

When Dante still believed he was alone, and had nothing left to lose. 

But now, he’s armed with the terrible knowledge that he might one day have to kill the only part of him that matters. The part of him that gives life any kind of meaning at all.

He’s not sure what’s worse: killing his brother to stop him from unleashing unspeakable horror upon the world, or selfishly choosing not to act at all and letting it happen, simply because Dante doesn’t want to wake up to a world without him.

He hates that it’s a choice he has to make at all.

He hates that Vergil has put him in this position.

He hates Vergil with every shred of his being, and wants to smash his perfect face into pieces. 

He ends up smashing his own reflection in the mirror instead.

It doesn’t help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> If you liked this chapter, please feel free to give a kudos or comment! You can also find me on Tumblr at [subtextually](http://subtextually.tumblr.com) or on Twitter at [@sub_textually](http://www.twitter.com/sub_textually). I am always happy to chat about Dante and Vergil!
> 
> A _huge_ thank you to my editor, [Auntarctica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auntarctica/) for inspiring me and encouraging me to write filthy Dante/Vergil fic, and for endlessly fueling the proverbial fire! Go and read her incredible DMC fics if you liked this one. 
> 
> Also, a massive thank you to the Anonymous artist who enjoyed commissioning the beautiful piece of art that accompanies this fic. You know who you are. :) <3


	2. take me down to your paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **Edited by[Auntarctica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auntarctica/)**  
> 

Three months pass, and the seasons turn.

It’s winter now, and the air bites with the kind of cold that goes all the way down to the bones.

Dante tries to not think about Vergil, and a part of him wishes he could forget it happened at all — what it felt like to be so alive for a shining moment, held in his brother’s arms; the taste of him sharp in his mouth, the scent of him burning in his lungs. He’d felt truly complete in a way he had never imagined, all the shadowy places within him illuminated by the fire in his belly that Vergil had ignited. 

But it’s impossible to escape, this feeling — dark and roiling and filled with a kind of raw, terrible hunger that no amount of fighting or fucking could ever possibly sate. 

If anything, any attempt at substitution has only made it worse — it’s grown into something monstrous. All Dante can feel is the enormity of it — the ache that makes him nearly mad with longing; a craving so visceral and deep, there are days when it threatens to destroy him.

But it’s the nights that are most terrible of all, when he is alone with the monstrosity that opens its mouth and roars. Claws into him where he is soft. Slides its tongue along the parts of him Vergil had branded indelibly with himself, awakening something ancient and primal.

The only thing he’s found that’s helped to take off the edge is when he looks at himself in the cracked mirror and pushes his hair back as he works his hand over his cock at a punishing pace. In that moment, he can almost make himself believe that Vergil’s there, watching him as he shamefully fucks himself, rutting into his own hand, hating Vergil for having done this to him, while wanting nothing more than to feel him again in the deepest part of him. 

And every time he comes, it’s _devastating._

*

It’s on a particularly cold, windy night, when the door to Dante’s yet unnamed shop cracks open.

Dante’s eyes track over the edge of the cold pizza halfway to his mouth and he stares at what he assumes must be a hallucination — an apparition he conjured up — because there’s no fucking way Vergil is actually standing there, looking back at him, with a glint in his eyes that makes everything in Dante whirl to a stop.

He forgets to breathe for a moment, as he blinks once, and then again, his eyes hungrily drinking up the impossibility of what stands before him. 

Moonlight pours in behind Vergil, the tips of pale, slicked-back hair taking on an ethereal quality. Dante registers the proud, steady set of his brother’s shoulders, which are slightly slimmer, but far more elegant than his own; the way he commands attention with the straightness of a spine that has never bent to another’s will; the groundedness of his leather-encased feet, where they solidly meet the earth, so unlike Dante’s own, which are carelessly propped up on his desk and bare. 

His eyes roam down to the hand resting lightly on the hilt of the sword at Vergil’s side, knowing just how deceptively casual such a gesture is. There’s never anything merely casual about Vergil. Dante’s never known him to act without intent.

He finds his brother’s face again, his gaze sweeping across the relaxed stance of his brows, the way his features have arranged into an impassive, almost disinterested expression, if not for the sharpness in his eyes that sends a hot jolt of electricity searing down Dante’s spine. 

And then there’s the tide of his blood, singing as it’s drawn towards his brother with the sure pull of gravity.

This is no illusion — Vergil’s really here, solid and real, in the flesh. Just mere feet away. So close, it wouldn’t take much for Dante to feel him under his hands again. 

The thought alone is enough to make the deepest part of him tremble, as arousal flares alive like a devastating trip wire, exploding inside of him with equal parts shock and raw, unadulterated want.

All Dante can feel is the thunder of his heart in his chest and the terrible pulse of hunger rearing its head as he lets out the breath he’d been holding a little too long, and carefully sets the half-eaten slice of pizza back in the box. 

“If I knew you wanted to party, brother,” Dante manages to say, not knowing how he’s able to keep his voice so steady, or make it sound so cavalier, when the rest of him feels like anything but. “I would’ve sent an invitation.” 

He watches as the curve of Vergil’s mouth tilts with mild amusement. He steps in past the doorway and closes the door behind him. 

The lock slides in place with a solid, resounding _click._

“I was under the impression that I didn’t need one,” Vergil finally says, speaking aloud what they both know to be true — there is nowhere in this world where Dante could be, where he wouldn’t welcome his brother. 

Dante feels Vergil’s eyes on him like fingers brushing down the entire length of him. It makes the deepest, secret part of him shudder as he meets his brother’s incisive gaze, which rises up to his own in challenge. 

For a moment, they stare at each other in silent assessment.

Dante’s not sure what Vergil really came here for — if he’s here to cut Dante down with his sword, or if he’s come for what Dante has needed so badly since the moment he woke up and found himself alone, with a monstrous ache inside of him that had grown unbearable in their time apart. 

He wonders idly if Vergil has felt it too — that hunger.

How impossible it is to sate.

Judging by the way Vergil stands with his hand on his sword, Dante has the sinking feeling that Vergil hadn’t come for him, but instead, for the amulet around his neck, resting on his bare chest. 

Without taking his eyes off his brother, Dante quickly places where he’s left his weapons, the ones he uses to hunt, and not the ones he has on show behind him — Rebellion just a few feet to his left, balanced against the wall. His twin guns, sitting in their holsters on his desk, just under the pizza box. 

If things are about to get violent, at least Dante won’t be caught off-guard. 

He lets his mouth curl into a smirk that’s almost derisive. “What, no booze? You sure know how to spoil me.” 

It takes all of his self-control to maintain his carefully slouched, careless position in his chair. Tension coils just under his skin, ready to ignite into movement, as Vergil steadily strides towards him without any hesitation in his step. His hand has never left his sword, as though he intends to draw it the moment he closes the space between them.

But instead of immediately striking, like Dante had expected, Vergil merely sits down on the opposite edge of the desk and reaches out with his free hand to casually push his younger brother’s feet off the desk as he pins him with an arched look. “What makes you think I came here empty handed?”

Dante makes a show of looking Vergil over. “I dunno, bro. The only thing I see in your hand is that,” he says with a nod in the direction of Vergil’s sword. 

Vergil spares a glance at his own hand, and then his eyes slide back up to meet Dante’s with a smirk curling over his mouth, as slow as rising smoke. He slides off the desk as smoothly as can be, coming around it so quickly, Dante hardly has a chance to even react. He finds his chin gripped between his brother’s gloved fingers, which brutally jerk his jaw up, forcing his eyes to follow.

The look in Vergil’s eyes is something Dante recognizes a little too well. 

There’s a violence there, simmering in the steel of his brother’s gaze. A kind of arousal bordering just on the edge of madness, which Dante had only ever glimpsed in the throes of passion, when Vergil was buried deep inside of him. 

“Look closer,” Vergil commands, his voice as soft as velvet, as dark as night. 

Dante can’t help but obey, his eyes sliding down from Vergil’s face, sweeping down the length of his body, and — _oh, fuck._

He can’t stop the sharp inhale of surprise that goes through him when his eyes land squarely on the unmistakable thick, burgeoning bulge at the front of Vergil’s pants. 

All the breath in him finds itself trapped in his throat as he stares, the tremble inside of him breaking down his spine straight to the tips of his fingers as he realizes that Vergil had come here for this, for him. 

That he’s as hard as Dante has been since the moment he laid his eyes on his brother. 

His own cock pulses in its constraint of leather, pressing up against the front of his pants, heavy with arousal. Any witty comeback he might have otherwise managed to deliver dies at the tip of his tongue. 

His brother huffs out a soft, amused breath that forces Dante’s eyes back up to his face, and Vergil says, “I see we have an understanding.” 

The smug bastard.

Before Dante can manage to compose himself enough to form some kind of witty response, Vergil slides closer and leans slightly against the edge of the desk as he lets go of Dante’s chin in favor of letting his hands drop to his waistband. He deftly undoes his belt, and then slowly starts to unzip his pants. 

It’s like a punch to the face, the heady scent of his brother’s arousal. 

Dante can’t help but inhale, breathing in the heavy, ribald musk that has his mouth watering as he realizes that Vergil had intentionally forgone any kind of underwear. He watches raptly as his brother’s cock — thick and flushed with blood, glistening at the tip — emerges from between the folds of his pants. 

Holy shit, he thinks desperately to himself, as he stares, lips slightly parted, unaware of how his breath shudders as it leaves him. 

The devil in him _roars,_ shaking him all the way down to his core, as lust glazes over his eyes and desire burns like fire through his blood. 

He should say something. He should act like this isn’t really affecting him, like he doesn’t need it. Like it’s not a big deal at all — Vergil sitting here above him with his cock out and arousal heavy in his eyes. The very thing Dante has wanted and desperately craved every night since they’d been apart. 

He opens his mouth with every intent of saying, _well, you sure are excited to see me, aren’t ya,_ but the words never leave his tongue, because Vergil beats him to the punch. 

“What are you waiting for?” 

Dante’s eyes flick up to Vergil, and it’s the biggest mistake he could have made, because Vergil’s looking at him like there’s nothing else in the world he could want — like Dante is the only thing that matters in this moment. 

It shoots a hot pulse of _want_ straight through his body, all the way down through his cock. 

Dante watches as Vergil’s mouth composes itself into a delicious smirk as he raises an eyebrow slightly and leans back casually, fingers curled over the edge of Dante’s desk. Then he says, “I know you’re hungry, brother. It’s better than cold pizza,” and Dante finally concedes defeat and decides a verbal spar with his brother is not nearly as high up on the list of his priorities as getting his mouth wrapped around what he’s wanted all along. 

“You’re an asshole,” Dante mutters petulantly. Fuck, he’s so aroused that he’s shaking, fingers trembling as they slide up his brother’s taut thighs to pull himself in between his legs, the chair sliding easily. 

“I am,” Vergil replies lightly, sounding far too pleased with himself, as his fingers thread their way into Dante’s hair, sending a shiver down his spine. “But that doesn’t change how much you need this.” 

How much we both do, he doesn’t quite say, but Dante hears it anyway, in the silence between them. Smells it, as he breathes Vergil in — that dark, wondrous scent of him, that’s as much steel as it is blood, as much electricity as it is smoke, a night sky with no stars that engulfs everything Dante knows as his head falls down, and his lips part, and _fuck, oh fuck_ — 

Any pretense of composure, of control, that Dante might have had, is obliterated the moment Vergil’s raw, delicious taste floods his mouth, sweeping in like a storm Dante could never hope to have any power over. 

He can’t hold back the desperate, hungry moan that leaves him as his brother’s hard cock fills up his mouth, pressing his tongue down, brushing against the back of Dante’s throat. 

Dante’s fingers curl over Vergil’s hips as he greedily pulls him closer, and triumphantly drags out a low, deep sound of satisfaction from Vergil as Dante takes him in deeper, his tongue flattening under the weight of Vergil’s cock as he drags his head up the pulsing shaft, then sinks back down again. Dante wastes no time swallowing down his brother, loving the terrible burn, the violence of it, as he forces himself down Vergil’s cock a little too quickly. He wants to devour him, to taste him in the deepest part of him, to feel him anywhere at all inside. 

Vergil’s fingers fist in his hair, and Dante’s scalp burns with the violence of it, pain shooting down his spine in a hot, pleasurable rush that has his dick straining against the constraint of his pants. He moans around Vergil’s cock as he slides his mouth back up again, gasping for a breath as he works his tongue over the fat, dripping tip, making a mess of it — of himself — as saliva and precum drips down his chin. 

“Look at me,” Vergil demands, and there’s a breathless quality to his voice — a nearly imperceptible tremble, as his hips roll up to force Dante to take him back down, plunging straight up into Dante’s mouth and down his throat. Dante groans as he finds his mouth filled, his lungs burning for breath, as Vergil starts to fuck his mouth. 

He could come like this, with his brother deep in his throat, stealing all the breath from him, as he looks up at Vergil, who looks back down at him with fierce and covetous eyes. Vergil is beautiful like this, with a flush riding high on his cheeks, something wild and uncomposed in his gaze, while he keeps the rest of himself contained, locked in. Swallowing down every moan he might make, as though such a thing might make him vulnerable. As though if he opens his mouth and lets it out, it might somehow let Dante in. 

And maybe that's just the thing, isn't it. He doesn't want Dante to see him for what he really is, even though it’s what Dante wants. Doesn't want to truly surrender any part of himself to anyone, to allow Dante to see the raw truth Vergil holds inside himself, the harsh glimmer just beyond the pale cool surface of his gaze. 

Dante wants to hear it the way he feels it, thrumming just under the surface, held captive behind a clenched jaw, locked up in the jail of his brother’s throat. What it is he keeps inside. The vulnerable, secret part of him he doesn’t want anyone to ever know.

Not even his own twin brother.

But Dante’s seen it before. Has heard it, every time Vergil’s come for him. 

He doesn’t understand why Vergil feels the need to hide it from him, when it certainly isn’t anything to be ashamed of at all.

He knows what's coming when he feels the way Vergil’s hips start to twitch, when he starts to lose his hold on the control he keeps tightly wrapped around himself, so he tightens his fingers in Dante’s hair and holds onto him instead. The breaths in his mouth are harsh. Rough like the way he moves his hips when he fucks Dante’s mouth, thrusting all the way down his throat. Dante has to brace himself so he doesn't choke, fingers grasping at his brother’s hips, holding onto him as he urges Vergil to let go.

And then, there it is — a crack of sound against a balled-up fist. A crack in the surface and Dante thinks he sees something there — something undeniably raw. Something beautiful. Vergil plunges forward and Dante takes him down, letting Vergil use him roughly as he fucks his mouth.

But suddenly, Vergil’s fingers twist in his hair, and he gives Dante a slight tug. “Enough,” Vergil pants out, his breath ragged, but Dante doesn’t want to stop. He wants to drag his brother to the edge, where everything burns brightest. Wants him to fall, even if the fall is dangerous. Wants the salty, bitter taste of Vergil’s cum to coat his tongue and fill his mouth as he drags the vulnerable part of his brother right into the light. 

Vergil makes a frustrated, harsh sound as his hips jerk up of their own accord when Dante roughly swallows him again, and then there’s a sudden burst of searing pain and Dante finds his mouth empty as he’s violently yanked off his brother’s cock. 

“I said, _enough,_ ” Vergil grits out between his teeth, trying to maintain control as he heavily breathes, but Dante can read in the lines of his body the tremble just under the surface. 

“Aw man, I was just about to get to the best part!” Dante complains as he rolls his eyes and scowls, tongue flicking out to lick his lips, chasing the lingering taste of his brother off his mouth. “Why do you have to ruin everything?” 

Vergil doesn’t immediately respond. He’s too busy trying to get himself back under control, all the lines of his body shifting with the exertion of burying the trembling part of him. Dante’s almost disappointed, until he suddenly finds himself yanked up bodily onto his feet by the fist that never relinquished its hold in his hair, pain scorching all the way down his spine as he hisses between his teeth. And before he knows it, Vergil has a hand splayed against his chest, and the wall cracks behind Dante’s back so hard, all the breath is knocked out of him. 

He finds his legs kicked apart as Vergil eases a knee between them, and Dante groans as the weight of his balls slide exquisitely along the solid plane of his brother’s thigh. 

“Patience,” Vergil begins slowly, as he starts to undo Dante’s belt, “is a virtue, little brother.” 

To hell with virtue, Dante wants to say, but what comes out instead is a broken, surprised moan when Vergil wastes no time dragging down his fly and reaching into his pants to curl his fingers around Dante’s cock, and slowly strokes. Dante can’t stop the next moan that’s ripped out of him, as pleasure floods through his body, and he desperately bucks into his brother’s hand, the friction from the buttery soft leather of his glove a delicious thing as it slides down his throbbing length. 

This is nothing at all like when he touches himself when he’s alone. Vergil’s fingers are smoother, slightly slimmer than his own. His touch is far cooler, more controlled. Almost calculated. 

And that _leather—_

“You always were so impatient,” Vergil comments idly, almost sounding bored, like he’s talking about the fucking _weather_ , instead of sliding his fingers up to the glistening tip of Dante’s cock, running his thumb over the swollen slit. “It’s really not a very attractive trait. You should work on it.” 

“Fuck you,” Dante spits out, but he doesn’t really mean it, not when he’s shuddering under his brother’s touch, when Vergil expertly teases out a gush of slick that pulses through his cock, coating Vergil’s fingers. Dante gasps roughly, fingers scrabbling as they twist into the soft, expensive fabric of Vergil’s coat as the fingers around his cock suddenly tighten painfully.

It’s so good that it makes Dante’s eyes roll back with a harsh moan. 

“Well. That’s not very nice,” Vergil says lightly, as he gives Dante’s cock an agonizing twist that sends equal parts pain and pleasure coursing through Dante’s body. “Here I am, being so good to you. You’re going to make me think you don’t appreciate it, brother.” 

“Yeah, well,” Dante breathes out as he tries his best to regain some kind of composure when Vergil’s touching him like this. “Maybe if you let me finish my meal, I woulda been more appreciative.” 

“And let you have all the fun?” Vergil’s fingers come to an abrupt halt as he clicks his tongue behind his teeth in admonishment.

Dante almost curses. 

Vergil has a brow raised, but one corner of his his mouth is curled up in amusement. “You always were so greedy. Have you forgotten how to share?” 

Any possible retort Dante could have had suddenly dies in his mouth as Vergil’s fingers slide away from him. For a moment, Dante almost panics, because this can’t be it — Vergil can’t be stopping, leaving him like this, hard and aching, dripping with need. Nearly mad with desire.

But before Dante can even open his mouth to protest, Vergil elegantly drops down onto a knee in front of him. And when the other one meets the ground, everything inside of Dante freezes as he stares down at his brother in bewilderment. 

This can’t really be happening. Vergil can’t really be kneeling on the filthy ground before him, like it doesn’t matter at all, gazing up at him through silver lashes with a look in his eyes that almost feels _reverent_. 

It shakes Dante all the way down and goes straight to the bottom of him, sweeping out what pretense of bravado he might have had from right under him, as he comes to the shocking realization of what Vergil intends to do. Vergil, who always seemed too good to play in the dirt with him; who always kept himself impeccably clean and put together; who, even as a child, always appreciated the finer things in life over the crude — intends to take Dante’s cock into his own mouth. 

“Whoa—” Dante breathes out, eyes wide. “You sure about this, brother?” 

This isn’t even something he previously had allowed other ersatz bed partners to do. He always found it a little too intimate, something he didn’t want to share with just anyone. But there was never anyone whom he wanted to surrender this part of himself to. 

Until now. 

Vergil looks entirely too amused as his fingers trace over the cliffs of Dante’s hips, and he peels the leather down. “Don’t worry, Dante,” he chides, as he tugs Dante’s pants down to his knees. Dante can’t stop the shudder that goes through him as Vergil’s hot, humid breath steams over the wet head of his cock. “ _I’ll be gentle._ ” 

Vergil curls his fingers around the root of Dante’s cock, then strokes up the length, tugging the velvety foreskin back to expose more of the swollen, glistening head. Dante watches with equal parts disbelief and arousal as his brother parts his lips, pink tongue sliding out to moisten them. And then he leans forward and strokes his tongue over the slick tip in a slow, luxurious lick that has Dante choking out a breath of surprise as heat — glorious and wet — washes over him. 

“ _Mnn…_ ” Vergil murmurs, a pleased hum, as though he actually enjoys the ribald taste in his mouth. The corners of his mouth turn up just as he parts his lips and sucks the head of Dante’s cock in, tongue swiveling around the glans swiftly, and darting over the frenulum with the same precision with which he wields a sword. 

The sensation is unlike anything Dante has ever felt before. It makes his hips jerk forward as a ragged moan is torn from his throat. One hand goes flying into Vergil’s hair, as the other scrabbles against the wall for some kind of purchase. Anything to let him hold onto what shred of control he has left. 

Vergil seems to take that as an invitation. He parts his lips and takes Dante down in a single, precise stroke of his mouth that engulfs Dante’s cock in a sheath of perfect, wet heat. And without any preamble, or any kind of warning, Vergil hooks his arms around Dante’s thighs to hold his brother in place and begins to _feast_. 

It’s not remotely gentle, not at all what he’d promised — it’s relentless, a ravenous _devouring._

As though Vergil can’t get enough of Dante and intends to consume him whole. 

It’s as shocking as it is perfect, and Dante loses himself in what must be the closest thing to heaven he’ll ever know, sinking deep into the paradise of his brother’s voracious mouth that wrests what control he had left straight out of his grip. 

It’s overwhelming, this tidal wave of sensation that crashes down and drags him into its riptide. 

Far away from the safety of his shores. 

He opens his mouth to drag in a breath. Ends up drowning on pleasure instead, unsure if he wants to run from it or if he wants more. Dante’s hips jerk back instinctively, only to find themselves yanked forward by his brother, who swallows him all the way down. 

“Fuck, Vergil— Verge—” Dante chokes out between moans, as Vergil sets an unforgiving pace, worshiping Dante on his knees like an ecclesiast before his god. Worshiping him with his mouth, even when there’s nothing holy or even beautiful about him at all. When ruin is all he’s become in their years apart. Yet, Vergil swallows down the filthiest part of him like it’s something pure. Kneels before him and makes love to him with his mouth.

It’s too much.

“I can’t—” Dante gasps out in warning, his body shaking, as the heat in him grows unbearable, ripping through him with a viciousness that shocks him, a feeling that’s far too large for his body to control. “Vergil— I can’t— I’m gonna come, I’m gonna—” 

But instead of pulling back like Dante had fully expected, Vergil only increases his pace. He encourages Dante to fuck his mouth roughly, as a sob of pleasure cuts through the air. Vergil keeps him anchored in place, pinned against the wall, even as Dante’s thighs tremble uncontrollably and his knees buckle. He falls into it, sinks wild into his surrender, as his back arches before he bows forward, hands clawing down Vergil’s back, tearing straight through expensive fabric and pale flesh, blood blossoming under his nails.

It’s violent, the way he comes apart, as the pressure in him contracts then _explodes_ , every part of him coming alive with volcanic pleasure coursing through his blood. Wild paroxysms wrack his body as Dante comes harder than he has in months, his voice going hoarse with the scream that tears out of him as hot, white cum pulses down his brother’s throat.

Vergil swallows every drop, drinking it down like ambrosia, pulling back just enough so he can greedily suck at the head, tongue lapping over the slit as his fingers curl around Dante’s slick cock to milk out the last of his orgasm. 

And when it’s over, all Dante can do is stare down in awe at his brother as a sly, knowing smile curls over Vergil’s incredible mouth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes, apparently. xD 
> 
> \---
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> If you liked this chapter, please feel free to give a kudos or comment! You can also find me on Tumblr at [subtextually](http://subtextually.tumblr.com) or on Twitter at [@sub_textually](http://www.twitter.com/sub_textually). I am always happy to chat about Dante and Vergil!
> 
> A _huge_ thank you to my editor, [Auntarctica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auntarctica/) for properly _motivating_ me to write filthy Dante/Vergil fic, and also for all her help with refining Vergil's voice and dialogue. Go and read her incredible DMC fics if you liked this one.


	3. you're every wrong that i need at night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **beta'd by[Auntarctica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auntarctica/)**  
> 

You would think that an earth-shattering orgasm is just what Dante needed.

But if anything, it only made the need inside him grow past the point of madness, a violent desire that subsumes reality itself, awakening the ancient, most primal part of Dante. Telling him that he needs _more,_ and he needs it _now._

It shrouds his eyes in a haze of lust, as he slightly sways above Vergil, one hand resting on his brother’s shoulder, the other sweeping back into Vergil’s hair. Dante barely registers Vergil’s sharp inhale when he yanks his brother’s head back with a fistful of hair, as his mouth comes crashing down in a kiss that’s as hungry as it is desperate. 

He can taste the sharp, bitter remnants of himself on his brother’s tongue. He chases after it with his own, teeth dragging over Vergil’s lower lip in the process as his tongue slides into Vergil’s mouth. 

Vergil sighs with satisfaction into the kiss, his hand coming up to cup the nape of Dante’s neck, dragging him down to pillage his mouth as thoroughly as he’d just devoured his cock. Slowly, he rises from his knees, his mouth never once leaving Dante’s as he walks him back up against the wall, his free hand skimming down his brother’s bare side. His teeth nip sharply at Dante’s lips, tongue skimming a moment after, before he breaks the kiss. 

“Still hungry?” Vergil asks softly against Dante’s mouth, voice rough. 

“Yeah,” Dante admits, punctuating the word with a kiss that has his tongue slicking back into Vergil’s mouth. He finds the fastenings of Vergil’s vest, slowly undoing them as he luxuriates in the plushness of his brother’s mouth. “Seems like I can’t get enough of you.” 

Vergil makes a low sound of satisfaction that pulses straight down to Dante’s cock, which is still as infuriatingly hard as it had been moments ago. 

Vergil certainly doesn’t miss that detail. 

Dante hisses through his teeth as the pads of his brother’s fingers delicately drag over the oversensitized head of his cock. He gets a deep, sultry chuckle against his mouth for it, and Vergil pulls back enough for Dante to catch the barest hint of white teeth as a sharp smirk cuts across his brother’s mouth. 

“Awfully eager, aren’t you. I wonder… just how many times have you come, fantasizing about this, brother?” 

Too many damn times, Dante thinks, as heat flushes through him, soaring through his chest and up his neck to color his cheeks. He sure as hell isn’t about to admit to Vergil just how badly he’s needed this. 

How difficult it’s been. 

Shame tears his eyes down from Vergil’s face, as he decides to completely ignore what had just come out of Vergil’s mouth in favor of concerning himself with the task of trying to fumble with his brother’s ridiculous vest. “Man, what the hell, how the fuck do you get this thing on? Ever heard of a zipper? This thing’s got like a hundred little—” 

Vergil’s hand suddenly closes viciously around his chin, two fingers pressing against his lips to silence him. As his face is yanked up, his gaze is forced to meet his brother’s and — _oh_. There’s a dark, quiet intensity in Vergil’s eyes that hadn’t been there before. Dante feels it like a hand around his cock, and it takes all of his self-control to not shudder.

“I asked you a question, Dante,” Vergil reminds him, danger simmering under the surface of his voice. “I expect an answer.” 

_Of course._

Of course Vergil isn’t going to just let it go. Dante should’ve expected as much. 

But this really isn’t something Dante can admit — certainly not out loud. Speaking it would make it true, would give it far too much power. And Dante’s not ready for that at all. So he does what he does best. He gives a careless shrug of his shoulders and says, “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t hear ya, I was too busy trying to get this damn thing off.” 

(Maybe Vergil will get the hint and drop it.) 

For a brief moment, it almost seems like Dante might actually get what he had hoped for, when Vergil cocks a brow and huffs a breath that sounds almost amused, one corner of his mouth curling up ever so slightly. But Dante should’ve known — Vergil never would back down from a challenge; certainly not one that comes in the shape of a stubborn Dante. 

Amusement snaps cleanly off Vergil’s face, his upper lip curling back in a sneer as his eyes narrow. And suddenly, the fingers that had been gripping Dante’s chin drop off, and pain rips hot and bright across his face as Vergil backhands him so hard that his head whips to the side and Dante tastes copper on his tongue. 

It shoots straight through the core of him like wildfire scorching through his veins as adrenaline sets the rhythm of his heart to pounding. 

His cock jumps with it, a bead of slick oozing out of the slit. Fuck, Dante shouldn’t be so turned on by it, by being _slapped_ by his brother like he’s a little bitch— 

“What the fu—” he starts to protest, as his eyes blaze back to meet Vergil’s, but all the breath is suddenly choked out of his throat with a punishing hand that holds him exactly where he belongs: pressed chest to hip against his brother. It’s a burn that feels so good, Dante can’t even find it in him to feign a struggle — certainly not when Vergil’s cock slides wetly against him as he leans in, his breath hot and vicious as it cuts across the curve of Dante’s ear. 

“Look at you,” Vergil croons into his ear. “Acting like you aren’t actually desperate for this. It’s really quite unbecoming, Dante, that you refuse to tell me what you really need, when we both know that you’ve spent every moment since our last encounter wanting this.” 

Vergil eases up on the grip he has around Dante’s throat, just enough to let him drag in a burning breath, but not enough to reclaim control. He’d have to fight for that. 

Dante’s not really sure if it’s what he really wants — but he also doesn’t want Vergil to think he’s won, certainly not yet. 

“Someone’s confident,” he manages to shoot off, strained, and gets his breath choked out of him once more for his effort. 

Vergil’s fingers are unforgiving. Utterly uncompromising.

Something deep and primal drags its teeth up his insides, claws sinking into his burning lungs. It dredges up a terrifying voice inside of him that tells him it would be so easy to break out of this, to smash Vergil brutally to the ground, climb atop him and take what he wants— 

But the part of him that trembles from Vergil’s touch, the part that is soft beneath all the armor he holds around himself, tells him to fight the impulse. Makes him submit to the demand in Vergil’s hand.

Instead of drawing back, Dante lifts up his chin. Presses forward into the hold Vergil has on him.

Vergil seems to sense the change in him, as he rewards Dante with a hand dragging down between their bodies, fingers deftly curling around the root of him. If he had any breath in his lungs, Dante would have moaned as he bucks into the touch that burns with as much pleasure as it does with pain, when he’s still so sensitive from his climax just moments ago. 

Vergil makes a low, pleased sound, and gives Dante an excruciating twist of the fingers that has him shaking as his lungs gasp for breath that just won’t come. “You act as though I shouldn’t have reason to be confident,” Vergil says as Dante’s hand snaps hard and fast around Vergil’s wrist — not to pull, but for an anchor to keep him steady, as his vision starts to swim before him, and his cock grows impossibly hard, pulsing hot underneath Vergil’s torturous touch.

Dante writhes, squirming up against the wall as trembles quake down his thighs.

“But your body doesn’t lie, brother. We both know it’s been calling for me every night you’ve been alone,” Vergil continues, his fingers tightening as they stroke up Dante’s cock, squeezing out a hot spurt of slick that has Dante’s eyes rolling back into his head as he undulates, mouth parted in a soundless moan caught by Vergil’s hand. The fingers around his throat ease up just as the corners of his vision start to go black and Dante’s knees threaten to buckle. He drags in a ragged, painful breath that’s immediately choked off again as Vergil corkscrews his fingers around the head of Dante’s arousal.

The agonizing pleasure is only as good as the pain, and Vergil’s rewarded with another gush of precum for it. 

“I have you in the palm of my hand, brother.” 

There’s a part of Dante that wants to deny this, deny him. That wants to tell him that he’s wrong — that the only thing he has in the palm of his hand is Dante’s cock, nothing else. That he doesn’t have the kind of power over Dante that he thinks he does. That Dante doesn’t need him the way Vergil insists. 

But the truth is in the way his body trembles underneath Vergil’s touch. How his eyes glaze over for it, hips helplessly undulating forward for more. How he offers up Vergil his breath. Allows the burn in his lungs to take him to the edge of delirium, holding him there effortlessly.

Vergil isn’t wrong, but the truth is as terrifying as it is empty.

Dante knows that even if he were to offer himself up fully for the taking, he would never be enough.

Not completely.

Not when the promise of power gleams on the horizon, more irresistible and tangible than love.

Vergil’s hand suddenly releases its grip around his throat, and Dante reels, swaying forward against his brother’s solid frame as sweet, cold air slams down his throat. He nearly chokes on it, trying to breathe it in, coughing as he gasps for the breath Vergil has finally given back to him. 

His face bows forward into the curve of Vergil’s neck, and for a moment, he just stands there, trying to relearn how to breathe, filling up his lungs with his brother’s scent.

The hand Vergil has around his cock stills, and then his brother drags his fingers in a delicate brush down the length to cup his balls. The feeling of it sends a quake down Dante’s spine as he roughly groans, his own hand coming up to curl over his brother’s hip. 

“Would it kill you to give me some credit for once?” Vergil asks softly, nose brushing against the crown of Dante’s head. 

It takes a moment for Dante to parse the words.

When he does, he somehow manages to pull his head back, slumping against the wall as he pants for breath. He digs up the last piece of armor he can manage to hold up between himself and his brother. “What, do you want a gold star or something?” 

The quip earns him an arched look, as Vergil’s fingers slide away from his body. "You and I both know that there's only one thing that can satisfy you. I want you to beg for it."

“Wow, you want me to _beg_ for it?” Dante can’t possibly be any more incredulous, even as the rest of him trembles with anger and need and something else. Something that feels just a little too tender, too raw. “Really man? Who the hell do you think you are, the king of good fucks?" 

To Dante’s surprise, instead of the violent response he’d anticipated, Vergil’s expression softens, and he says, “I'm the only thing that could ever make you whole."

It’s as soft as a whisper, but more devastating than any blow. It lands somewhere squarely between the ribs and settles there, aching, and Dante realizes that Vergil actually means it this time. 

That he’s not just saying it to get a rise out of him. 

There’s something sincere there. Something real. 

(And a part of Dante dares to wonder if maybe Vergil feels the same way.)

"Fuck, Verge.” Dante’s voice comes out broken, as what fight in him melts away, his shoulders slumping with it. “Why did you have to go and put it like that?"

"Because it's true." It’s almost shocking, how gentle Vergil’s fingers have suddenly become, as the same ones that had crushed his throat just moments ago now cup the side of Dante’s neck, where his pulse beats strongest. As though Vergil wants to hold Dante’s heart in his hand. Keep it protected. "I want you to beg for it. Prove to me how much you need this,” Vergil quietly insists. "I won't ask again."

The gravity in his request is as clear as day. 

Dante is stunned silent.

He’d never once considered the possibility that maybe some part of Vergil needs him, too. That he wants Dante as much as Dante wants him. That maybe, he needs to know that what they share actually means something to them both.

Realization settles within him quietly. 

Vergil’s never truly asked anything of him before. 

Certainly, not like this. 

Dante swallows hard past the constriction in his throat, and then reaches out for his brother, a hand sliding behind the nape of his neck to pull him forward until their foreheads touch. 

For a moment, they just stand there, breathing the same rarefied air. 

And then, Dante takes a breath, lets his eyes close, and whispers, “Please, Vergil... I need you.” _I’ve never needed anything else._

The moment lingers for what feels like an eternity. And suddenly, there it is — Vergil’s mouth hot and wanting against his own, desperate in a way he so rarely is. Dante gasps a breath of surprise as he initially tenses against the onslaught, then relaxes into the kiss, his hands coming up to cup his brother’s face, as he opens up and Vergil sweeps in. 

“Show me to your bedroom,” Vergil whispers between kisses, and Dante nods, leaning in for one more kiss before Vergil steps aside enough to let him lead the way. 

Vergil lets him take his hand, and Dante pauses enough to kick his pants off, before he leads him up the stairs and down a dim hall that ends at a door, which he pushes open to reveal a darkened bedroom centered by a large, four poster bed with all of its covers hanging half-off. Clothes lie haphazardly strewn all over the room, dirty socks and underwear bunched up at the foot of an armoire. Empty beer bottles sit on a nightstand, along with a half-used bottle of lube. There’s a dirty magazine flipped open to a rather lurid scene on the floor by the opposing wall, where it had ended up after Dante had attempted to use it for inspiration, only to miserably fail. 

Even in the dim lighting that throw shadows into sharp relief, Dante can see the way Vergil’s eyebrow rises slightly in assessment, and then his brother sighs and says far too dryly, “Some things never change.” 

Dante just gives Vergil a good natured shrug and a lopsided grin. “Hey, what can I say? It’s not like I had anyone to impress before.” 

Vergil just cuts him with a sidelong glance of disdain, and then drops his hand from Dante’s in favor of stepping towards a large, standing full-length mirror half-covered by an article of clothing Dante had carelessly thrown. He holds Yamato out and uses its sheathed tip to slide it under the fold of fabric. With a flick of the wrist, the shirt elegantly flutters to the floor, revealing the mirror underneath it. Vergil glances over his shoulder at Dante, who closes the space between them and lets his hands come up to close around Vergil’s hips as he grinds his cock up against his brother’s clothed backside.

“You should take more pride in caring for your belongings, brother,” Vergil murmurs, as he leans Yamato against the mirror, and then slides his fingers under the lapels of his coat, letting it fall off his shoulders. 

“Whatever,” Dante dismisses with a careless roll of his eyes, and then takes the opportunity to drop his face into Vergil’s neck, pressing a hot kiss right above the edge of the cravat before he raises a hand to pull it loose, his tongue immediately tracing over bared skin. 

The act draws a sharp inhale from Vergil, and Dante can see in the mirror the way his brother’s eyes darken, lashes dropping to half-mast over his gaze. Dante’s teeth skim over his pulse point, which he sucks on languidly, as one hand encircles Vergil’s waist to claim his cock.

Vergil stiffens up against him, lashes fluttering shut for a moment as his lips part with a low groan that makes Dante’s lips curl against Vergil’s skin. “ _Jackpot,_ ” he whispers, as he feels the tremble that goes all the way down through Vergil’s frame, and gives his brother a long, slow luxurious stroke that has Vergil dripping over Dante’s bare fingers. 

Vergil breathes in a shuddered breath as his head rolls back against Dante’s shoulder, relaxing into Dante’s touch as he tugs off his own gloves, dropping them to the floor. 

“I take _great_ pride in caring for _you,_ brother,” Dante says cheekily with a grin as his lips drag up the length of Vergil’s neck to his ear. “You don’t seem to be complaining.” He brushes the pads of his fingers over the glistening head of Vergil’s cock to sweep up the glossy emanations leaking from the slit, then brings up his wet fingers to his lips. His eyes meet Vergil’s in the mirror just before he slides them into his mouth, lashes dropping as he slowly sucks the taste of his brother off his fingers with a low moan of delight.

He should’ve known better than to close his eyes when he had Vergil in a compromised position. Within the space of a breath, Vergil suddenly turns, and with a calculated push, sends Dante flying back through the air. Dante falls heavily onto his bed with a laugh of surprise that’s cut off by Vergil, who looms over him as he pins him down with his wrists above his head. 

The look on Vergil’s face is wonderfully predatory and dark. 

It sends a deep curl of heat into Dante’s gut as he tilts his head back in supplication and welcomes his brother’s mouth once more as it comes crashing down, arching up against him to feel as much of him as he can. He groans into the kiss as he feels his brother’s slick length sliding up against his own. 

The silk brocade of Vergil’s vest brushes against his bare chest, the ridges running over his nipples, and Dante makes a soft grumble of discontent. “You’re wearing too much, brother,” he complains against Vergil’s mouth, wanting to feel more of him against his skin.

Vergil pauses with a slightly amused huff. “Demanding, aren’t you?” 

He relinquishes Dante’s wrists in favor of sitting up to undress. Dante pushes himself up on his elbows and watches in disbelief as Vergil effortlessly undoes the fastenings of the vest that Dante had struggled so much with earlier, letting the fabric fall open. Vergil waste no time divesting himself of his vest, revealing his whipcord, chiseled torso which is leaner and sleeker than Dante’s own. 

He bends back down over Dante, one hand sliding up over his younger brother’s abdomen slowly, tracing over the sculpted ripples all the way up to his chest, when he encounters the amulet still around Dante’s neck. 

The way Vergil looks at it makes something terrible sink inside of Dante. Makes the breath in his throat lock up. 

“Vergil.” 

Vergil’s eyes rise up to meet his and Dante suddenly feels foolishly brave. “You can have it,” he says, gesturing at the amulet, and Vergil’s brows knit together in mild confusion. “But you gotta take me with you this time. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.” _Someone has to stop you_ , he thinks to himself, wondering if Vergil will take the bait.

Vergil stares at him for a long, hard moment, and then he reaches for the amulet slowly. Dante allows him to pull the amulet off his neck, then watches as Vergil sets it aside on the nightstand.

“Dante,” Vergil murmurs softly, his eyes tracking back to Dante. “I didn’t come here for that.” 

Dante’s eyes fall shut as he lets out the breath he had been holding. It comes out of him shaky and worn. 

Of course, Vergil would rather leave the amulet behind if it means not having to take Dante with him to wherever the fuck he disappears off to in his pursuit of power.

Vergil doesn’t give him much more of an opportunity to think on it. His mouth is suddenly upon Dante’s once more, in a kiss that is as furious as it is bruising. The fingers of one hand tangle in Dante’s hair, the other tracing down his side to find traction on his hip, and Dante arches up against his brother, his own arms going around him. 

He knows no amount of holding will ever keep Vergil here, but at least for a moment, for a night, he can have him where he wants him most. 

Dante loses himself in it, lets Vergil sweep him away again with his mouth and the smooth slide of his brother’s cock against his own until it’s hopelessly hot and slick between their bodies and they’re both gasping harshly into each other’s mouths. He allows himself to be arranged onto his knees as Vergil pushes his head down and runs a hand down his spine to the nape of his neck. Dante breathes hard, cheek pressed against the worn surface of his coverlet, fingers curled into the fabric as he waits with anticipation, listening to the sound of Vergil undressing the rest of the way behind him. 

The heavy thud of boots is followed shortly after by the _shhh_ of falling fabric that can only be his brother’s pants. 

And then Vergil’s hands slide up the hemispheres of Dante’s ass cheeks, spreading them wide. Dante draws in a breath as he awaits what’s surely coming next — only for his eyes to fly open in shock when Vergil’s hot breath steams into the cleft of his ass, and then his _tongue_ follows. Vergil laps his tongue over the tight pucker of Dante’s hole before closing his mouth over it in a shameless, open-mouthed kiss, sending a violent wave of pleasure unlike anything Dante had ever felt before straight through his core.

“Holy shit, holy shi—” Dante whimpers, pressing a fist against his mouth as he squirms when the tip of Vergil’s tongue slicks round and round over sensitive ridges and grooves and then pushes _in_. “Oh fuck— _Fuck!”_ Dante cries out, head thrashing back as his hips jerk forward, only to be caught by strong, unyielding hands that keep him right where Vergil wants him. 

Vergil makes a deep, hungry sound as he feasts, and the sound of it is so salaciously sexy that it makes Dante shake — or maybe that’s just the tongue fucking its way into him. Dante twists the coverlet in his hands as he gasps for breath, his entire body trembling. 

“Fuck, I feel like I’m gonna come—” Dante gasps into the sheets as he rides Vergil’s devilish tongue. 

Vergil chuckles low and dark behind him, slurping wetly around his hole. “You won’t.” 

“But it feels so damn good…” Dante pants out. 

“You know better,” Vergil insists, and Dante hears what he doesn’t quite say — _you know better than to come without my permission._

He makes a low, keening whine as his brother’s tongue traces over swollen, twitching flesh, and bites down on his fist, cock jerking. A hot spurt of precum soaks the fabric beneath him as he shudders and tries his best to hold back the urge to blow his load all over the sheets. “Fuck, Vergil, _fuck_ , you _bastard_ —” Dante curses as Vergil’s tongue drives viciously back into him, ripping a loud, broken moan out of him as quakes erupt down his thighs.

He doesn’t know how Vergil expects him to last like this, when all he can feel is sensation spiraling through him in a hurricane of pleasure, tearing up the earth under his feet, sending him flying into the wide open sky. 

Sweat breaks out over the surface of his skin, dripping down his temple. 

Dante shakes with the pressure of holding back what feels like a fucking _volcano_ threatening to explode inside of him.

“Vergil, I can’t— I can’t. It’s too much— I’m gonna—” It comes out a panicked whine between gasps of breath, as Dante feels his balls drawing up dangerously, his cock growing heavy with blood. A wave of relief floods him as Vergil finally concedes with a deep chuckle and draws back, smoothing his hands fondly over Dante’s ass and slowly up the entire length of his back. 

“Breathe,” Vergil tells him, as Dante pants into the sheets, still trembling, cock twitching furiously. 

“ _Fuck,_ Verge, did you really have to do that?” Dante gasps out as Vergil pets a hand through his hair, fingers brushing along the sweaty nape of his neck. 

“You certainly seemed to enjoy that,” Vergil dryly counters, and Dante can practically _hear_ the smug smirk all over his face. 

“Yeah, well,” Dante mumbles, as he pushes himself up a bit. Shit. Even his _arms_ are trembling. “I wasn’t exactly expecting that.” 

“You should know better than to ever have expectations when it comes to me,” Vergil informs him as the hand that had been resting on the nape of Dante’s neck pushes his face back down. “Stay down. I didn’t say you could move.” 

There’s a flare of rebellious indignation rising up inside of him, but Dante’s dick gives a jerk to remind him that maybe he shouldn’t be arguing with his brother right now — not when he’s so close to _finally_ getting what he’s wanted for so long. 

Instead, Dante keeps his head down where Vergil wants it, and lifts his ass up. “Dammit, will you just fuck me already?” 

“As I said before, brother,” Vergil says, taking his sweet time as he settles behind Dante, who can hear him slicking himself up with _something_ that sounds wonderfully wet, “patience… is a virtue.” 

“Screw patience,” Dante complains, and he’s about to tell Vergil how little patience has done for anyone when he suddenly feels the wet, blunt tip of his brother’s cock pressing up against him. He goes silent as Vergil’s fingers curl around his hip. 

Pain flares alive as Vergil pushes in and Dante draws in a sharp breath as he’s spread wide around the thickness of Vergil’s cock. This is it — this is what he’s wanted for _months,_ what he’s craved — his brother, slowly burying himself inside of him. Fucking his way in so deep, Dante can feel him in the deepest part of him. He shudders and gasps as he tears from the sudden intrusion, and groans as Vergil slowly makes his way inside of him, blood and spit and lube slicking the way. 

It’s more destructive than any tidal wave, the way Vergil comes crashing in, the thickness of him filling up Dante’s body, the scent of him filling up Dante’s lungs. He could open his mouth and drown on him, on this, and maybe that wouldn’t be such a terrible fate — to fall endlessly into the depths of the brutal sea that is his brother. He could let himself be carried far off his coastline, and sail along the electric currents of everything he could ever wish for. 

Maybe if he’s swept away, he’ll never be left behind, standing alone on a cold, desolate shore, with nothing but the fading taste of his brother in his mouth and empty arms that can only wrap around the space Vergil leaves behind every time they part.

“Fuuuck—” Dante whimpers into the sheets, his breaths pained, shaking as Vergil shushes him softly, fingers sliding into his hair. 

“That’s it,” Vergil murmurs into his ear in encouragement, solid and warm along the entire length of Dante’s back. “Breathe, Dante.”

Dante breathes.

It’s like coming home, the way their bodies fit together, all the broken, jagged edges of them finding a perfect fit with the other.

Vergil pushes in until there’s nowhere left to go. Buries himself so deep, Dante’s not sure where Vergil ends and where he begins. Maybe he’ll never find his way back out of this. Maybe Dante can lose himself completely in everything that is Vergil, who, in this moment, has become his entire world. And it might be dangerous, losing himself like this to another person, but then, Dante only found himself again when Vergil came crashing back into his life. 

He’s not sure it matters if he loses himself again, if it means he can somehow keep a part of Vergil with him. 

Vergil plunges into him and it’s like drowning, the way it steals Dante’s very breath. Vergil is an inferno in him and around him, and Dante’s not sure if there’ll even be anything left of him at the end. 

It’s been so _long_ since he’s had Vergil inside him. Since he’s been in his brother’s arms. Three months, but it feels like forever ago. It takes everything inside him to hold himself together, to hold back the overwhelming tide of pleasure from pushing him over the edge, just having him inside again.

Vergil lets out a quiet, shaky breath and then slowly shifts his hips, groaning at the friction as he pulls out halfway, and then slides back in with a hoarse gasp. His fingers dig into Dante’s hips, pulling them up so that he can slide in even deeper. The action aligns their bodies in such a way that allows every hard inch of his cock to grind right into Dante where he wants it the most. 

It hurts the way that it should — ripping wide open the terrible ache Dante’s carried with him every night they’ve been apart with heat, pure and unbridled. The fullness of it is overwhelming — every molecule of his body feels alive with it, pulsing with blood and fire and a dark energy that thrums in synchronicity with what fills him. But it’s the pleasure that’s far better, the way that it washes over Dante in waves that mount higher and higher with each hard, shuddering thrust that has him groaning into the sheets. 

The world recedes and leaves him with just this — pleasure so overwhelming almost like nothing he’d ever felt before. Pleasure that consumes him, that has him on the edge of screaming as he rips up the sheets underneath him in his hands in an attempt to hold onto _something,_ anything at all. He can barely even _breathe,_ and the breaths that do come are hoarse, ragged desperate gasps between each sound he makes.

Vergil lets out a low, deep growl that rumbles straight through him, and then he’s got his hand in Dante’s hair, and yanks Dante up, forcing him to push himself up onto his arms. 

“Look at yourself,” Vergil hisses into his ear. “Look at how much you need this.” 

Somehow, Dante manages to open his eyes, his unfocused gaze settling on the surreal image of himself in the mirror: mouth hanging open; brows knitted in pleasure; eyes glinting with need as his cock throbs below his body, dripping thick, clear drops onto the sheets. He watches himself being fucked by his brother, watches the way Vergil presses himself on top of him, the way their bodies crash together. Hears the slap of skin against skin, the salacious wet sounds of his brother slamming in as Dante draws him in deeper, rocking back every time Vergil rocks forward. 

It’s one of the lewdest sights he’s ever seen — and there’s a sick satisfaction in seeing himself this way, in watching Vergil fuck him, in knowing that his brother is the one who’s laying his claim to him.

In seeing himself like this — raw and needy and desperate. 

He’d forgotten how good it would feel. To be broken down. To be pushed to the very edges of his limits, until all that remains of him is the rawest part. This terrifying part of himself he never shares with the rest of the world. This part of him too dangerous for anyone else but his brother to hold. But he knows Vergil understands his rawness, understands what it’s like to have something monstrous inside that he can’t simply let out. He knows that he can trust him with this part of himself: the part that is vulnerable, the part that needs to be reminded of his own depravity. To have his face pressed into it and reminded of just what he is — what they both are. 

“ _Dante…_ ” Vergil says his name like it’s a prayer, something sacred, his voice trembling with it as he plunges in deeper, and Dante feels it in the very depths of him, the way their blood resonates with each thrust as they climb higher towards apotheosis, reaching higher than the sun. 

And all Dante can feel is the teeth in his skin as Vergil bites down on his neck, and the thickness of his brother’s cock splitting him apart, and the heat of Vergil’s body burning Dante up. It's suddenly too much, the pleasure inside of him spinning out of control, and Dante’s arms shake as he gasps, trying to hold back the force that’s threatening to burst. 

“Verge— I’m gonna— I need—” Dante can barely form the words, but Vergil is right there with a hand curling around his cock, stroking him hard and fast. 

“Come for me,” Vergil commands breathlessly. 

Dante opens his mouth for a breath and what comes out is a scream as his entire body jerks with the force of his orgasm, which empties out of him in violent, hot pulses of white splashing all over the sheets. He trembles as Vergil’s voice rises to meet his own in a broken cry, and he feels the warm, wet heat of his brother’s cum filling him up. 

The next breath he takes feels like the first one he’s taken in far too long. Like he’s been holding his breath all along and Vergil reached beneath the surface to yank him out. Forced him to the surface so he can open his mouth and breathe like he’s never breathed before.

When he finally takes his first real breath, Vergil is all he breathes.

*

They were never meant to be separated like the stars in the night sky.

Gravity pulls them together, and they collide into one another with the force of a thousand burning suns. 

They fuck over and over, relentlessly finding their way into the other, until the sun is high up in the sky the next day. Afterwards, they lie in each other’s arms, exhausted and spent. Dante is curled up alongside Vergil’s side, warm and sated in a way he only ever is when they’re together like this. His cheek is pressed against Vergil’s chest, one arm sprawled over his stomach. 

He listens to the rhythm of his brother’s heart, his own reverberating in response, until they beat together. 

For a little while, he can forget about the war that never ends, the monsters that crouch in the shadows, waiting for the edge of his blade. He can bask in this moment, in the rhythm of his brother’s heart that could lull him to sleep if he’s not careful. 

It’s almost idyllic. A little too peaceful. 

Dante knows that he won’t be able to have this forever. He’s not even sure if he’ll still have this tomorrow. So if this moment is all he has, he’s going to make it count. 

“You don’t have to go,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between them.

Vergil doesn’t respond for so long that Dante might have thought he had fallen asleep, if not for the fact that he had been idly running his fingers up and down Dante’s shoulder the entire time. 

“It won’t be forever,” Vergil eventually says, but that gives Dante no real relief at all. 

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Dante—” 

“Just stay.”

Vergil sighs and his fingers still on Dante’s shoulder. Dante doesn’t have to look up to know that his brother’s brows are pinched together in a frown. “Do you think this is easy for me?”

"What's so hard about staying?"

"Why do you doubt me?” Vergil asks, his voice and body tense. “Why can't you believe I'm doing what's best? You trust me with your body, can't you trust me with this?"

Dante sighs and pulls away from his brother. He sits up and runs a hand through his hair as he looks down at Vergil, who looks back up at him with a hollow look in his eyes. “It’s not the same thing, brother. You can’t compare it.” He pauses for a moment, rubbing his fingers over his eyes wearily. “This isn’t what our old man would’ve wanted.” 

"Our father wouldn't have wanted any of this,” Vergil admits, as he pushes himself up on an elbow and turns to look at Dante. “But he failed, didn't he? The great Sparda...failed. The demons came regardless."

“So, what, you’re gonna just open up the mouth of hell again and let ‘em in? Sounds like a great plan, if you’re tryin’ to end the fucking world!”

"At least with Father's power, we would rule them. We'd be at no one's mercy. Otherwise, we're merely waiting for them to find us. And I won't let that happen to you." 

It’s the dumbest fucking thing Dante’s ever heard in his life.

He gives his brother an incredulous look. “In case you forgot, brother... I kinda hunt demons for a living. The more, the merrier. I don’t want to rule them. I want to kill ‘em all.” 

For a long, tense moment, they study one another. Dante warily watches the way Vergil’s eyes track to the door, studying it as though he’s trying to decide if he should leave now. Maybe if Dante punches him hard enough, he’ll be able to keep him right where he belongs. 

But instead of getting out of bed, Vergil sighs. He lies back down and stares up at the ceiling. “Maybe I can stay a little longer…” he concedes after a moment. “But you don’t know what you’re asking.” 

Dante hadn’t quite expected that. 

He had thought that Vergil never would have compromised, not even a little. 

The fact that he plans to stay, even if it’s only for a little while longer, makes the treacherous warmth in Dante’s chest ignite into a fierce burn. 

Vergil holds out his arm to him and Dante stares at it for a heartbeat, and then slides back down to curl up against his brother, whose hand finds its way into his hair the moment his head finds its place on Vergil’s chest. 

It feels right. 

It feels like home.

A part of Dante wishes it didn’t. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard, if that were the case. 

“You’re an asshole,” he grumbles after a few, quiet minutes as Vergil strokes his hair. 

Vergil’s hand doesn’t pause. “So you love reminding me.” 

“Can we get pizza?” 

“We can get pizza.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> If you liked this fic and want to see more fics featuring Dante/Vergil, please feel free to give a kudos or comment! You can also find me on Tumblr at [subtextually](http://subtextually.tumblr.com) or on Twitter at [@sub_textually](http://www.twitter.com/sub_textually). I am always happy to chat about Dante and Vergil!
> 
> A _huge_ thank you to my editor, [Auntarctica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auntarctica/) for inspiring me and encouraging me to write filthy Dante/Vergil fic, and for endlessly fueling the proverbial fire! Go and read her incredible DMC fics if you liked this one. 
> 
> You can also join us all on the [Spardacest Discord Server](https://discord.gg/E3REwjM) if you'd like to chat with others about various Sparda ships.


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